


a sigil for your troubles

by thejabberwock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arguing, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 08:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwock/pseuds/thejabberwock
Summary: It's always the same argument. Even though, by now, Dean should know Castiel will do anything to protect him.





	

Castiel squints at the sigil keeping him from entering the bedroom he shares with Dean. Lifting his head, he matches Dean’s intonation perfectly as he says, “ _Really_?”

But it doesn’t garner the reaction he’s hoping for. Dean ignores him and continues pulling weapons from the duffel bag on the bed. Even without the sigil chalked over the threshold, Castiel would be able to read his irritation clearly.

He tries again anyway, “Dean, I understand why you’re upset–”

“Good for you,” Dean mutters, not even looking up from where he’s returning one of his guns to its place on the wall.

“I know you think I was reckless–”

“Reckless?” Dean aims an incredulous glare over his shoulder. “You almost got yourself killed, Cas.”

It’s a point he has no choice but to concede, so he dips his chin in acknowledgement but he can’t help but attempt to make Dean understand his motive. “I was trying–”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do. I told you–”

“I was trying to protect you, Dean.”

“Protect me? How the hell were you going to protect me? That son of a bitch stomped all over your mojo, which is why I told you to stay down. Sam and I had it under control.”

Castiel frowns. “He was seconds away from slitting your throat.”

“Until you decided it would be better if he slit yours instead.”

“I didn’t decide it would be better,” Castiel answers the anger with exasperation. “You needed help.”

“What I needed was for you to take care of yourself for once,” Dean snaps. “Instead of trying to be a goddamn martyr.“ His jaw is set, green eyes hard. Castiel wants to grit his teeth and point out all the times Dean has done the very same thing–frightened him in ways that he wishes he could erase from his memory.

But arguing with Dean is never enjoyable; never useful. The sigil separating them abruptly feels overwhelming. Too close to the days they’ve put behind them.

But as much as Castiel dislikes sleeping alone, he won’t push where he isn’t wanted. “If you don’t want me here,” he says after a considered pause to keep his voice from betraying his hurt, “I’ll sleep in my old room and we can talk about this when you’re ready.”

Dean’s jaw jumps, glare wavering briefly before it’s back in full as he steps over to the sigil and kicks a line through the chalk. It’s enough to break its power, but not enough, apparently, to melt Dean’s anger. He turns away and goes back to unpacking.

Sighing in near silent relief, Castiel waves his hand to erase the rest of the chalk and some of the constriction eases from his chest as he steps into the room. Dean’s back is still aimed at him, his movements terse as he sorts through the weapons. Perhaps a night spent apart would be the wiser choice.

But they’ve done enough of that over the years. This is where Castiel wants to be, even if Dean is angry with him.

Castiel touches his back with gentle fingers, paying attention to his reactions. Dean doesn’t move away, so Castiel slots in where he belongs. Sets his mouth at the base of Dean’s neck.

Dean drops his head, which is encouragement enough for Castiel to press into him and take the gun from his hands. Dean allows it, doesn’t object when he lifts the bag from the bed and lets it thunk to the floor, weapons clanking as they settle. He slides his hands up Dean’s chest while his lips continue pressing gentle kisses into his skin.

“Not fair, Cas,” Dean mutters. Castiel can’t help but smile. He pulls back just enough to nudge him around. The anger is gone from his expression, leaving leftover fear in its wake. Guilt presses against Castiel’s chest, a familiar feeling when it comes to Dean. And words, in this situation, rarely work to his advantage. Dean, like so many humans, responds better to actions.

Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s chest and with just a little pressure, he folds. His body thumps softly onto the bed, and Castiel crawls over him; notes the furrow between his eyebrows before he leans in to kiss at the spot behind Dean’s ear that never fails to make him pliant. Bares his teeth and scrapes over his carotid and the tension drains from Dean’s body.

“ _Really_ not fair…”

“I believe it was you who taught me that some rules are meant to be broken.”

Dean rolls his eyes, his arms finally coming up and around to hold Castiel. “And it always comes back to bite me.”

There’s no heat in the words, only resignation. And Castiel thinks of an innuendo that Dean would appreciate in any other circumstance.

The guilt is still heavy, but Castiel doesn’t want to apologize. It’s always been this way. From the moment he touched him in hell, Dean was his to protect.

Castiel knows he doesn’t expect an apology, and that’s exactly why the guilt persists. “My instinct to protect you,” he begins and Dean sighs; pulls at the back of Castiel’s shirt to tug it from his pants.

“I know–”

“Let me finish,” Castiel chides and that too, he’s allowed. Dean simply raises his eyebrows, slight sarcasm that is just as well loved as the rest of him. Dean’s palms are warm against his back. “I can’t apologize for that. It simply is, but I am sorry I worried you.“

“That’s a shit apology, Cas.”

Castiel smiles, sets his fingers against Dean’s face because he likes the way he relaxes into them, lets Castiel trace the shape of his lips. “I’m given to understand apologies are meant to herald a change in behavior. It’s part of my makeup,” Castiel says when Dean’s eyebrows draw together and he opens his mouth to object. “It’s what I was created to do.”

“You weren’t created to protect me.”

“It was always going to be me,” Castiel reminds him. “I was always going to be the one who raised you from perdition.”

“And brand my soul, I  _know_ , Cas.” Dean’s thumbs brush over his bare back, and it helps to soothe words that would otherwise be dismissive. “I know you gotta do your angel thing, but can you just… I don’t know, not be such a dumbass about it? Maybe try not to get yourself killed trying to help me out?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says, voice casual in a way he knows is guaranteed to stir Dean’s irritation, “if you’ll agree to do the same.”

“Damn it, Cas…”

Castiel seals their mouths together, taking the words away and if Dean’s kisses are sharper than they might otherwise have been, he isn’t going to complain. He lets him have what he needs, gives him an outlet for his fear, stoked for hours by the long, silent drive home.

He’s pulling at Castiel’s hair, fingernails dragging up his back, digging in sometimes to leave divots behind in fits and starts. A frustration Castiel recognizes. He takes over, pulls his mouth away to bite at Dean’s skin and Dean inhales beneath him, grabbing at his back in a different way, arches his neck in a silent plea for more. Opening to him, letting Castiel prove he’s alive. That’s he’s safe and whole.

With kisses and hands against naked skin, with the twist of his hips as he fucks Dean slowly. And eventually, after they both come, when Dean is loose-limbed and relaxed beneath him, he pulls Castiel closer even though Castiel has no plans to leave their bed anytime soon.

He kisses Dean’s cheek and feels content as he listens to his breathing as it quiets.

“Chalking that sigil was a dick move,” Dean eventually admits.

“Mm,” Castiel can’t help but agree. He recognizes the words as an apology, punctuated by Dean’s fingers scratching through his hair, and when Dean turns his head, Castiel meets him for a kiss. “I’ll try to be more careful,” he says after awhile. It’s an easy promise to make, here in their bed, both of them safe.

“No, you won’t,” Dean mutters, but the slant of his mouth as they kiss is reassuring. It’s an argument they’ll no doubt revisit in the future, but for now, Castiel focuses on the present. On the aimless way Dean’s hands wander over his skin and the soft hum of contentment as Castiel pulls him closer.

 


End file.
